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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862536">Donde empezó todo</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowz/pseuds/Bowz'>Bowz</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Vis a Vis | Locked In (Spain TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, F/F, Slow Burn, Zurena</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 00:35:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862536</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bowz/pseuds/Bowz</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Macarena Ferreiro finds out that she's been set up by her own boss. When her plan to get herself out of trouble goes wrong, she turns towards an unexpected person for help. Little did she know that this decision will drastically change the course of her life.  </p><p>Or</p><p>AU where Maca never ended up in jail but still managed to cross Zulema's path, for better or for worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Macarena Ferreiro/Zulema Zahir, Zulema Zahir/Macarena Ferreiro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi lovelies, </p><p>Thanks to your encouraging comments on my last story, I have found the motivation to write more. No more tears this time (yet) but a very different project that I hope you'll enjoy. It's gonna be a long ride, so please be patient and bear with me! </p><p>The timeline picks up before the first season does, which means that Maca hasn't been caught by the police yet! Of course, a few things will diverged from canon but some others will be inspired by it. The idea for this story originated from the second episode of "De la cárcel a el oasis", a mini-series Fox released before the last season started. If you haven't watched it yet, you should definitely check it out… </p><p>Last but not least, enjoy!</p><p>-</p><p>"Sin embargo, algo me dice que aunque el pasado cambiase, </p><p>Tarde o temprano en un lugar del espacio-tiempo, </p><p>La rubia y yo nos hubiésemos acabado encontrando. </p><p>Era el destino, y contra eso, no se puede luchar.</p><p>El destino…¿Hijo de puta, no?"</p><p>-</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"<em>Joder</em>," Maca cursed when a little red light appeared on her dashboard, warning her that she will soon be out of gas. She was on her way back from a bank meeting and wasn't really familiar with this part of town, but she spotted a gas station after a few minutes of driving. Once parked near a pump, she shut off the engine and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She shouldn't feel that upset about forgetting to fill up her tank, but she was so exhausted that this simple task felt overwhelming. Trying to calm down, she took a deep breath. <em>It will be over soon</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She glanced on the side, where a silver briefcase was carelessly laying on the passenger seat. Two hundred thousand euros, freshly out of the bank and neatly organized. Most people would have considered this a huge sum of money, and not very long ago, Maca was one of them. Now, after weeks of handling briefcases full of banknotes, the thrill was gone. Two hundred thousand didn't seemed as intimidating as before compared to the 1.8 million that she already stored in Simón's safe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took a large gulp of air and closed her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>A few weeks before</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"We should go to Panama," came a muffled voice from the bathroom next door.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca could hear the water getting turned on through the thin walls. She stretched in the bed, her body mingled in satin sheets. Still high from her last orgasm, Panama sounded like a brilliant idea. "We should!" She shouted back loud enough for Simón to hear her. "I still can't believe we're doing this…" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Crazy, right?" He answered. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Crazy it was</em>, she thought, absent-mindedly playing with a lock of hair, trying to repress the nagging feeling of doubt in the pit of her stomach. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s been embezzling money from her company since a few weeks, with the help of her own boss - who also happened to be her 4 years-long lover. She knew how the situation might look like from the outside. What she was doing was wrong, she was breaking the law… But deep down, she was just trying to balance a situation that she saw as unfair in the first place. Is it really stealing if the money was Simón's to begin with? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Since he told her he was about to ask Lupe for a divorce, she knew he will loose everything in the process: his family, his money, and his company. But he worked so hard to get where he was that Maca didn't find the situation fair. So, she suggested switching asset's ownership in order to keep them out of reach from Lupe - and Simón was eager to accept. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What started as a few transactions and paperworks - switching Simón’s stocks to her name - turned into something way more serious when he asked her to sell them and keep the money in his safe - instead of transferring it into the company's bank account, where it belonged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>"I- I'm not sure Simón," frowned the blonde. "That sounds dangerous."</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>"Think about it," he pressed, caressing her cheek.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>"But… What will you do with the money anyway?" </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>"We could leave, together, can you imagine?"</em> When he pressed his lips against hers, full of promises, the deal was done. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The young woman often wondered if she had gone too far, if she had crossed a line that she couldn't get back from, but she was so excited about the divorce and the prospect of a life together after years of waiting, that her moral compass wasn't pointing in the right direction anymore. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her only wish was to make him happy, and that feeling was surpassing everything else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca smiled to herself, every doubts finally pushed aside. In one month, they will have reached their goal and disappeared from Madrid without looking back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She got up from Simón's bed, in the mood to make some pancakes before starting the day. They were usually seing each other at Maca's place, but since Simón broke things off with his wife, the couple were enjoying his fancy villa instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca glanced at the tight black dress she was wearing the day before sprawled next to the bed, and after a few seconds of hesitation, decided to borrow something more comfortable from her lover's wardrobe. She adventured, naked, in the walk-in closet next to the master bedroom, her finger lingering on the nice fabric of expensive dresses and suits. That was exactly why she was doing all of this. Not the fancy clothes and the money, but to have somewhere to call home. A place where she will not just be the mistress anymore, but where they'll share everything, where her shirts will be next to his ties, and where they'll wake up next to each other every mornings. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her face lit up when her gaze fell upon a specific hoodie neatly folded on top of one of the highest shelves. It was hideous, really, but they brought it together in a cheap souvenir store during their first week-end in Paris. Her smile widened at the memory and, getting on her tiptoe, she stretched one arm to reach it. As she pulled the piece of clothing towards her, a manila folder tucked under fell on the floor. The content - different pieces of paper and documents - scattered around her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Forgetting about the hoodie, Maca glanced at the bathroom door to make sure it was still closed before kneeling down. She grabbed the folder and began to put the documents back in, but something in the corner of her eyes caught her attention. She frowned at the sight of two passports laying under a piece of paper. She couldn't tell why, but something in the back of her mind was pressing her to take a look inside. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, she glanced at the bathroom door one more time and in a swift movement, grabbed and opened the first one. Her brows furrowed as a picture of a young woman she never saw before was staring back at her. Light hair, blue eyes, in her mid-twenties.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Emilia Martín</em>, read Maca, puzzled, before flipping through the pages and noticing it was brand new. She already saw Simón's family and was absolutely certain that this woman wasn't Lupe nor one of his daughters. Shrugging, she put it on the side and opened the second one. This time, her heart skipped a beat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She recognized Simón's features immediately. But the detail that caught her attention was the unfamiliar name written next to his picture: <em>Marco Lopez</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She abandoned the passport on the floor and started getting through the rest of the documents. Her mind was desperately trying to calm down and come up with a logical explanation, but in reality, her hands were already shaking and she could feel her heart pounding a little harder with each passing seconds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bank accounts, phone numbers, hotel reservations, car leasing, dozens of documents at Emilia and Marco’s name. When she spotted two flight tickets for the Cayman Islands with the exact same dates she and Simón were supposed to leave Madrid together, her vision was already blurred with tears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Maca, can you grab me a shirt please?" Simón asked from the bedroom. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde jumped, pushing everything back into the envelope. "Sure," she shouted, a crack in her voice, whipping tears from her cheek. "I'll be out in a sec." </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">*****</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca followed Simón around for several days after this, and it didn't took her long to spot Emilia. Her real name was actually Sara, and she was working as assistant manager at their office. She never felt more stupid, because it only took her a few minutes to notice the gentle touches on the waist and the soft smiles shared between meetings. The assistant must have been five years younger than her, and she was watching him with the same passionate pair of eyes that Macarena had at the beginning of their affair. If she needed a last clue to put all the pieces of the puzzle together, that was definitely it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She dug her nails into her thigh. Anger replaced sorrow a long time ago - against him but mostly against herself. She let him manipulated her like a desperate girl craving for attention, and she fell head first, ready to sacrifice everything she had for him. For love. <em>How fucking pathetic</em>, she thought. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She spent days mulling over what to do next. Should she confront Simón? Should she exposed him to the police? One thing was fore sure, she was not letting them both disappeared with the money she took all the risks for. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde started to ponder her options, but quickly realized that most of them were leading her to jail. She was the one handling the money, it was her face on the camera, and her name on the paperworks. It was going to be her word against his, and even if she managed to prove his guilt, he will most likely bring her down with him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca was a mess for weeks. Not sure of what to do, she kept her discovery for herself and carried on with the money transactions. She had to act like everything was normal, keep a straight face every day at work and when Simón touched and kissed her. It was unbearable, and she lost count of the number of times she had to run for the toilets to hide a panic attack. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">One night, looking up at the fan spinning on her bedroom's ceiling, unable to find sleep, she promised herself that she will ruin his life.</span><br/><br/>And that's when an idea finally popped in her mind. </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca snapped back to reality when someone knocked on her car's window. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turned her head towards the intruder and was met with the most intense pair of eyes she ever saw. Their feline shape and hazel color were highlighted by black eyeliner and framed with raven hair. The woman staring at her was wearing a grey overalls with a cheap car wash logo on her chest. Maca narrowed her eyes to read her badge, but was interrupted by another impatient knock. The blonde lowered the window down, an apologetic look on her face. "Sorry."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The stranger leaned against the frame of the window, pursing her lips and visibly annoyed. "¿<em>Te aspiro el coche por tres euros?</em>"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Huh," Maca blinked. "No, thank you."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Despite her clear answer, the woman was not moving an inch and was still looking at her with piercing eyes, which made the blonde fidget on her seat. Unconsciously, her right hand tightened around the metallic briefcase next to her and the older woman's gaze darted towards the same direction. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca hold her breath for what seemed like endless minutes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Can I borrow you a cigarette then?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde's head turned to look at the passenger seat and spotted the Marlboro pack next to the briefcase. She exhaled, relieved. What was she afraid of? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Sure." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca handed her the pack and her lighter through the window and watched her lit a cigarette in a somewhat awkward silence. Once done, the brunette exhaled a cloud of smoke towards the sky and handed her back the pack, but not the lighter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm keeping this, if you don't mind," she said - and not asked - while pushing it into one of her pocket.She tilted her head as a thank you before turning around, not embarrassing herself with a goodbye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What the hell," muttered Maca, watching her figure walked towards the next car in line in the rear-view mirror. She didn't really cared about the lighter - she found it abandoned in a lousy bar, and it had an horrendous scorpion sticker on it - but still. She shook her head and, taking her purse and the briefcase, finally got out of the car. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Forgetting about the strange woman, her thoughts drifted back to Simón as she waited for the gasoline to fill up her tank.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As of now, the only thing tying him to the crime was the money. It was stored in a safe inside his office, next to the paperwork proving that Maca was the one embezzling it from the company. Her plan was simple: she needed to destroy any trail leading back to her, and the perfect opportunity was coming up next week: an annual charity event, hosted by the company since several years. Simón wanted to cancel it at first, arguing that they needed to stay focus on their task at hand, but Maca persuaded him that it could look suspicious. "<em>Además… We're almost done, don't we deserve to unwind a little?</em>" <em>She whispered, trailing kisses on his torso until he changed his mind.</em> The event was crucial to Maca's plan, as it will provide the perfect distraction to access Simón's office alone and long enough to destroy any evidence associating her with the money. Once done, the police will receive a tip from an anonymous source pointing to the irregularities in the company's bank account and where to find the missing money. Nothing will allow them to trace it back to her, and if Simón tried to drag her down with him, she'll deny everything, including their affair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lost in her thoughts, she made her way inside the station to pay. It was deserted and a tacky pop song was blasting through the speakers. Just when she was about to say hello to the only employee behind the checkout, she felt her purse vibrate. Adrenaline coursed through her vein as she leaped to open it and grab her phone. The message she had been waiting since this morning flashed on her screen. A simple "<em>done</em>", signed by an unregistered number. Maca bit her lips to repress a smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That message meant that every footage of Simón's office and its surroundings had been deleted. The number belonged to a young woman Maca met online. The blonde had browse every corner of the internet for days, and after a few dead ends and a scam, finally found someone to take care of the security cameras. Maca never met her, they only spoke through the phone once. She had to wait her call from a phone booth, and the young woman insisted that this will be the first and last time they will speak directly. She went by the name Triana and sounded incredibly young, which made Maca more than nervous, but she accepted her terms anyway - it wasn't like she had many other options. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Handling the existing footage was the easiest part. The most critical mission will be to hack the camera's feed and replace what the security guards will see on their monitor during the charity gala next week, allowing her to sneak into Simón's office without being noticed. Knowing now that Triana passed her first assignment without any troubles, Maca felt her shoulders relaxed and more confident about what has yet to come.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sudden and very loud horn blast coming from outside almost made her drop her phone on the floor. Her head snapped towards the large window facing the parking lot and her brows raised in surprise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The woman she saw before was standing on someone's car. Her hands in her front pockets, the cigarette she gave her earlier between her lips, and a shit-eating grin on her face. Judging by the insults Maca could decipher from afar, the driver didn't seem to appreciate it. The brunette, standing on the hood, leaned towards the windshield and crushed what was left of her cigarette against it before jumping back to the ground. Maca snorted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's Zulema," the teenage boy behind the counter explained, chewing a gum loudly. His badge said "<em>Luís - In training</em>". </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blonde's attention was now on him. He had a <em>blasé</em> look on his face, like it was not the first time he had to justify his unconventional colleague's behavior. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"She's<em> loca,</em>" he continue, scanning the ticket Maca gave him. "But she let me smoke weed in peace. I think she's an ex con or something." He pushed the card terminal in her direction. "Forty eight euros and sixty five cents please." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maca nodded in silence, but couldn't stop her eyes from going back and forth between the credit card's number she was trying to type and the crazy woman outside.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Macarena managed to avoid Simón for a few days, pretending to be busy with a few more meetings than she actually had. But the week-end eventually came, and she knew she will have to spend some time with him. It was important to keep their habits intact, pretending that nothing was wrong - even if it became more and more difficult to bear as time went by. Now seating in front of him at a restaurant she never went and had to cross half Madrid to get to - Simón insisted that their apple pie was to die for -, she couldn't help but wondered how it would feel to slap his stupid smirk off his face.</p><p class="p3">"So, what do you think?" He asked expectantly, pointing his chin towards her plate.</p><p class="p3">Maca's eyes fell on the food she barely touched. "It's great," she smiled, before forcing a baby carrot into her mouth. Well, at least, she didn't had to lie about that - the food was decent.</p><p class="p3">"I'm glad." Using the napkin he unfolded on his lap to wipe the corner of his mouth, he grabbed the wine bottle and poured the last drops in Maca's glass, who was emptying hers quite faster than him. "Excuse me," he signaled from afar to a waitress passing by, waving the empty bottle to signify he was waiting for a refill.</p><p class="p3">Maca pushed her food around her plate. She always hated when he was doing this.</p><p class="p3">"Are we celebrating something?" She asked, falsely amused.</p><p class="p3">"Well, we should definitely celebrate each day passing by and bringing us closer to Panama."</p><p class="p3">He raised his glass and Maca marveled at the easiness he had to lie. She couldn't stop wondering when he started to manipulate her, when she became replaceable. Has he always been lying, when he hold her close and said he loved her?</p><p class="p3">She clinked her glass against his, knowing that she'll never have her answer. Before she could bring it to her lips, her phone's screen lit up and started to ring. She declined the call without really looking and turned her phone face down on the table.</p><p class="p3">Simón, focused on his plate, didn't paid attention. "So, did you find something to wear for the gala?"</p><p class="p3">Maca nodded. "Yes. I think I'm gonna go with -"</p><p class="p3">Her phone rang again. She sighed but took the time to check the number this time. </p><p class="p3">"Aren't you getting that?" Simón questioned, looking at the device in his partner's hand.</p><p class="p3">Maca froze when she recognized the first digits. She declined the call again, trying to stay calm under Simón's gaze, and shook her head no. "It's probably these guys trying to sell me a new cell phone contract, <em>again</em>." To prove her point, she muted her cellphone and put it away, buried inside her purse.</p><p class="p3">"At this hour?" Simón frowned.</p><p class="p3">The young woman shrugged, before grabbing her glass again and emptying half of its content in one go. She needed to relax, Triana calling her now didn't have to mean that something was wrong. <em>Was it?</em> </p><p class="p3">Across from her, Simón tilted his head, concern starting to show on his face. He put his cutlery down. "Are you okay?"</p><p class="p3">"Mhm mhm," the blonde nodded a little too vehemently, her best smile plastered on her face. "Just a little tired, that's all."</p><p class="p3">But just when she thought she had everything under control, she felt her purse vibrate against her right leg, signaling another incoming call. Maca tried to stay still and hold her smile, but it only took a few seconds for her anxiety to win the battle. She got up from her chair, grabbing her purse in the process.</p><p class="p3">"Excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom," she said, before disappearing under Simón's quizzical look.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Maca locked herself up in the last toilet stall of the row. The restroom was empty, but she felt safer behind the cubicle's door. She dug up her phone from her purse and dialed the last number that tried to call her several times. Like she feared, Triana's voice greeted her.</p><p class="p3">"Maca?!"</p><p class="p3">"Triana?" Maca whispered, even if no one was here to listen. "I though we couldn't call each other? What's -"</p><p class="p3">"Listen," the young woman cut her off. "I don't have much time."</p><p class="p3">Maca could feel the urgency in her voice. Her tone was nothing like the first call they shared weeks ago. "What's wrong?" She pressed, miserably failing at keeping her cool.</p><p class="p3">"Maca, listen to me, the police is searching my house."</p><p class="p3">"What?!"</p><p class="p3">"I don't have time to explain. Look, I'm sorry, they already arrested my girlfriend, she got me into this huge mess and - "</p><p class="p3">"Triana," Maca interrupted her. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She knew where this conversation was heading, but she refused to give up yet. There must be another way. "Can I do something to help you? I'm sure we can figure something out."</p><p class="p3">Silence.</p><p class="p3">"Maca, I'm probably next, I can't help you with the cameras anymore…"</p><p class="p3">"No, wait…" Maca begged, distress now evident in her voice. "That's not possible, how am I supposed to -"</p><p class="p3">"<em>Lo siento </em>Maca, you'll have to be on your own." And with that, the line went silent.</p><p class="p3">Maca looked at her phone, stunned, as if expecting Triana to call her back and telling her it was a bad joke. But the call never came, and tears started to fill the blonde's eyes as realization hit her. The gala was in 3 days, and without someone to control the cameras, she will never be able to access the safe in Simón's office and get rid of the documents incriminating her.</p><p class="p3">Maca started to feel panic spreading in her chest. Was all of this crazy? How exactly did she went from a successful and respected accountant to plotting with a teenage criminal? Her plan was collapsing, without the documents gone she could not call the police and frame Simón for embezzlement. He was going to fled with Sara and the money, leaving her behind and probably in jail.</p><p class="p3">Maybe she deserved it after all. </p><p class="p3">Maca wiped the tears that managed to fall on her cheeks with the back of her hand. She needed to get out of here before Simón started to get suspicious. Just when she was about to put her phone back in her bag, someone kicked the restroom's door opened. The loud noise made Maca jumped, and she accidentally let her purse fell on the floor - the content scattering on the tiles.</p><p class="p3"><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p5">
  <em> A few minutes before…</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">Zulema pushed the kitchen's door open, barely avoiding to collide with another waiter getting out with his arms full. She crossed the busy room towards the back, stealing an apple from the pastry chef's hand on the way.</p><p class="p3">"Hey!" He protested, shaking his head and muttering something in Italian.</p><p class="p3">The brunette bit into the red fruit, ignoring him, and reached a small staircase leading to the restaurant's wine cave. Nothing too fancy, but a good selection nevertheless. She scanned through the bottles, looking for one in particular.</p><p class="p3">She had trade her grey overalls for a white shirt and a black trouser, along with a small apron tied around her slim waist. Turned out that finding a decent job when you were an ex convict with a 15 years gap in your résumé wasn't easy. She started working at the car wash station six months ago - right after she got released from jail, thanks to her parole officer. A shitty part-time job with a shitty pay - but she didn't really had the luxury to complain.</p><p class="p3">However, she quickly realized it will not be enough if she wanted to live a decent life. And she didn't spend so many years behind bars to barely make it outside. So, instead of falling back into her bad habits like the entire system was expecting her to do, she looked for a second job and started to waitress a few nights per week. It was exhausting but at least the pay was more decent thanks to the tips. Another good point was the full access to the kitchen. She could eat everything she wanted as long as the chef - Rafael - wasn't around. The guy was a pain in the ass. Arrogant and too flirty - the whole package. She would have probably stab him with a fork if she was still in prison. But here, the rules were different.</p><p class="p3">"Here you go", she muttered to herself, finally spotting the red Burgundy wine she was looking for. She took the bottle expected by her client and made her way up to the kitchen.</p><p class="p3">"Hey! Look what the cat dragged in," a voice came from across the room.</p><p class="p3">Zulema rolled her eyes and tightened her grip around the bottle. "Rafa, the six is waiting for a goddamn soup since an hour," she complained. Not that she really cared, but she was the one harassed in the dining room. And unhappy customer meant unhappy tips. "What the fuck is taking you so long." </p><p class="p3">"<em>Joder tia,</em>" he scoffed while pouring a ladleful of soup into a bowl. "Calm down, talent takes time. There," he said, bringing it to the brunette. "Why don't you just ask nicely?" </p><p class="p3">Zulema bit the inside of her cheek. She couldn't stand him.</p><p class="p3">"Why don't you just do your fucking job?"</p><p class="p3">They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and just when Zulema was about to take the plate from his hand, a mischievous smile stretched Rafael's lips as he leaned in to whisper against her ear.</p><p class="p3">"Why don't you meet me in my office after your shift?" He moved back just enough to catch her eyes. "I know a few tricks or two that could help you relax a little." And then, Zulema felt one of his hand brush the small of her back.</p><p class="p3">It was the last straw. She snapped, and a second later, her head met with the chef's nose with a distinguishable <em>crack</em>.</p><p class="p3">He shouted in pain, holding his face as blood started to stream from his nostrils. "<em>Hija de…</em>" Anger flashed through his eyes and before he could throw himself at the brunette, two waiters who were silently watching the exchange until now held him back. "You better get the fuck out of my kitchen or I swear to god…" He fumed.</p><p class="p3">Zulema narrowed her eyes, watching him agitated under his coworker's hold. She took a huge bite of the apple she was still holding, carefully maintaining eye contact with Rafael as she was chewing unceremoniously. After a few seconds, she leaned above the soup waited by table six, and spited what was left of the fruit in it.</p><p class="p3">"Looks like you're the one who need to relax," she casually said before tucking the wine bottle under her arm and grabbing a corkscrew on her way out. Smirking at the insults he was throwing at her, she didn't saw the waiter coming in at the exact same moment she was pushing the kitchen's door open.</p><p class="p3"><em>"Puta mierda," </em>she hissed, when the content of one of his plate ended up on her shirt<em>.</em></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">-</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p3">She kicked the women restroom's door open, relieved to see it was empty. Well, at least she thought it was until she saw someone's purse fell on the floor.</p><p class="p3">Zulema groaned and rolled her eyes. Ignoring the woman cursing inside the toilet stall and the few items who had slid under the door, she made her way towards the sink to clean herself. Putting the stolen wine bottle down on the counter, she unbuttoned a few centimeters of her shirt until something in the mirror's reflection caught her eyes. A cigarette pack, laying on the floor, probably belonging to the clumsy person behind the toilet's door. In this precise instant, nicotine seemed like the only viable option to save this night.</p><p class="p3">Zulema turned around and approached the pack, but just when she was about to reach it, the stall's door opened.</p><p class="p3">The brunette was caught of guards. Half bent over, her gaze followed the pair of legs up until her eyes locked with the blonde's still inside. It took her a few seconds to realize that the woman - smudged make-up and puffy eyes from crying - was the same one that she met a few days ago at the gas station. She scoffed, amused at the coincidence, and decided to take the pack anyway.</p><p class="p3">Maca, on the other side, looked like a deer caught in headlights. When she recognized the woman standing in front of her, she instinctively hold her purse a little tighter against her chest.</p><p class="p3">"Are you following me?" She asked, obviously still overwhelmed by her emotions.</p><p class="p3">Zulema blinked. "Yes." She held the pack she picked up into the air. "I really needed another cigarette." She mocked, a deadpan expression on her face.</p><p class="p3">A few seconds passed and a light blush crept on Maca's cheeks. She suddenly felt stupid for asking such a question, especially once she noticed the older woman's uniform. "I -" She shook her head, closing her eyes to collect her thoughts. "I'm sorry, long day…" She offered, before sliding her purse on the top of her shoulder and heading towards the sink, leaving the cigarettes behind.</p><p class="p3">She turned the tap on and splashed fresh water on her face, hoping to sooth her nerves. When she reopened her eyes, she caught Zulema staring right at her through the mirror, and when she saw her own reflection, she quickly understood why: she looked like a giant mess. She cleared her throat, unsettled by the scrutiny, and took a cheap tissue from the dispenser next to her to carefully wipe the smudged mascara from under her eyes, trying to not ruin her make-up any further.</p><p class="p3">"Allergies," Maca tried lamely, not even convincing herself.</p><p class="p3">Zulema quirked a brow in silence, and finally broke eye contact to approach the sink next to the blonde. She pushed the pack of cigarette in her back pocket and unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. Now in a simple tank top, she opened the tap and started scrubbing the white fabric, hoping to get rid of the tomato sauce staining it. It only took her a few seconds to realize it was probably a waste of time. </p><p class="p3">"Did you know that there is different kind of tears?" The brunette asked, shutting off the water, defeated. Maca's eyes darted to her form, surprised by the question. "Tears that comes up because of an irritant, like when you're cutting onions or when you have allergies" Zulema continued, pointing to the blonde's reflection - like it was actually her case, "are not chemically identical than sad or happy tears."</p><p class="p3">Maca frowned.</p><p class="p3">"No I - I didn't know," she said, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. She didn't really knew what to answer and instead, watched with curiosity the older woman opening a wine bottle she hadn't noticed before, her shirt now hanging on her shoulder.</p><p class="p3">Once done, Zulema drank directly from it, eyes closed - enjoying the rich savors on her tongue. "One of my favorite," she shared after licking the corner of her mouth and pushing the bottle into the blonde's direction.</p><p class="p3">Surprised, Maca slowly tilted her head as a thank you and gladly took a large gulp - Simón almost forgotten. When she handed her back the wine, Zulema was lighting a cigarette trapped between her lips.</p><p class="p3">"Aren't you gonna to get fired for this?" She asked. </p><p class="p3">The older woman narrowed her eyes and exhaled a cloud of smoke. "For what?"</p><p class="p3">"Drinking on the job? Smoking into the bathroom? Climbing on top of people's car?" Maca shrugged, a small smile tugging her lips for the first time in a while.</p><p class="p3">Zulema's light laugh echoed into the empty room. "I think broking the chef's nose already sealed the deal," she dragged on her cigarette, pointing two fingers into Maca's direction. "Watch out for blood in your salad." </p><p class="p3">Maca snorted. <em>She's not serious… Is she?</em> The blonde didn't had the time to ask her, Zulema was already on her way out. "Wait!"</p><p class="p3">The brunette turned around, leaning against the door frame and looking at her expectantly. ¿<em>Qué?</em></p><p class="p3">Maca closed and opened her mouth several times. She couldn't say exactly why, but she found something quite enticing about the other woman - a form of carelessness she never witnessed before. And maybe it was the wine she drank all night or the stress of being let down by Triana at the worst possible moment or the fact that she was probably fucked, but she had to ask.</p><p class="p3">"Do you believe in doing the wrong thing for the right reasons?"</p><p class="p3">Zulema looked taken aback. If Maca wasn't paying attention, she would have missed how her eyes seemed to drift away for a few seconds, lost somewhere else, before focusing back on her.</p><p class="p3">"Only if you're ready to live with the consequences," she answered, and disappeared behind the door. </p><p class="p3"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! </p><p>My apologies for the long wait, holidays and life got in the way... I would like to thank you so, so much for all the kind reviews you took the time to write. I'm really glad that this story has managed to catch some of your interest! </p><p>I hope you'll like this chapter who is diving a little more into Zulema's story,<br/>Enjoy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><b>In regard of recent events, I would like to advance our monthly meeting. Please, come by at the office as soon as possible. </b> <b></b></p><p class="p3"><b>Tomás </b> <b></b></p><p class="p3">Zulema sighed as she finished to read the text coming from her parole officer. This didn't sound good. At all. She put back her cellphone in the front pocket of her grey overalls, thinking about what was waiting for her. Probably several reproaches about the kitchen 'incident' that happened last night. After breaking Rafael's nose, she left the restaurant without a warning, knowing fully well that her services will no longer be needed. If she didn't regret her gesture, she didn't think that Tomás would learned about it this quickly.</p><p class="p3">She took the plastic bucket she used to wash her last customer's windshield, and threw the dirty water on the side, splashing the concrete. Zulema hated this. Having someone watching over her every move, commenting on how she was supposed to behave and act. She knew her freedom was coming with rules and conditions for 6 more months, but sometimes being out on parole felt even worse than being in jail. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, pushing her bangs on the side. It was only 10am, but the summer sun was already burning her skin, and she still have 3 more hours to go before finishing her shift. </p><p class="p3">She needed a smoke. Of course, just when she was about to reach for a cigarette and enjoy a few minutes of break, a new car pulled over next to her. She sucked the inside of her cheek, trying to pull her best face despite her annoyance. She approached the vehicle - ready to give the usual speech, but when the driver got out, she froze.</p><p class="p3">"Hi," came a now familiar voice.</p><p class="p3">Zulema quirked an eyebrow, facing the blonde she seemed to keep running into these days. "Who's following who now?" She mocked.</p><p class="p3">Macarena had a shy smile and huge sunglasses that she pushed on top of her head, revealing bags under her eyes that Zulema pretended to not notice. She closed her car's door and approached the raven-haired woman, "<em>Touché</em>."</p><p class="p3">"Should I fill a restraining order?" Zulema asked, keeping a straight face while still holding her plastic bucket.</p><p class="p3">Maca chuckled. "Not yet…" She hugged herself with one arm, her eyes darting everywhere but on Zulema. "I actually came to ask you something," she said, before reaching for something in her jeans pocket and presenting her right palm open to Zulema.</p><p class="p3">It was full of coins.</p><p class="p3">The older woman narrowed her eyes. "<em>¿Qué es esto</em><span class="s1"><em>?</em></span>"</p><p class="p3">"3 euros," answered Maca, matter of factly. "I would like for you to vacuum my car."</p><p class="p3">Zulema looked at her, puzzled, while an awkward silence fell around them.</p><p class="p3">"You have to pay at the register inside the station," she finally said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p class="p3">"Oh." Maca left her hand stretched an embarrassing amount of seconds, before putting the money back where it came from. "Right, of course." She cleared her throat, ignoring the burning sensation on her cheeks. "Could you… take care of it?" She asked tentatively.</p><p class="p3">Zulema pursed her lips to hold a smile. "You really came all the way here for me to vacuum your car?"</p><p class="p3">"It was on my way to work," lied the younger woman, dusting an imaginary stain on her shirt.</p><p class="p3">The brunette observed Macarena, sensing that she was not telling her the whole story, but nodded anyway. "Well, then…" She stretched her arms, palms towards the sky. "Who am I to refuse." </p><p class="p3">She disappeared inside a little shed near the station's entrance, and came back a few seconds later with gloves on and a vacuum cleaner that she plugged near the blonde's car. She started by opening every vehicle's doors, and Maca had to move around a few times to not stand in the way. She watched the brunette get to work, standing awkwardly on the side.</p><p class="p3">Of course, she didn't spend one hour in Madrid's morning traffic jam to get her car vacuumed. After her toilets breakdown the day before and a sleepless night in Simón's bed - pretending she had too much to drink to avoid any kind of intimacy - she decided she will not give up on her plan despite Triana abandoning her to her fate. If it was too late to find a new wannabe hacker online, she might still have one card left to play.</p><p class="p3">And it was standing right in front of her. </p><p class="p3">"I heard you were in prison," she blurted out. </p><p class="p3">Maca couldn't see Zulema's face - she was bent over in the car, vacuuming the passenger seat - but she saw her arm stopped moving for a second.</p><p class="p3">"Do you?" She shouted over the noise, focused on reaching under the seat. "It doesn't sound like your business though."</p><p class="p3">"I - I know," Maca faltered. She made a step forward, tilting her headand attempting to catch the brunette's attention. "I don't mean to pry, I just… Actually, I would like to offer you a job."</p><p class="p3">This time, Zulema's attention was fully back on her. She stopped the vacuum with her feet.</p><p class="p3">"Do you think I'm doing this for fun?" </p><p class="p3">"No… Not this kind of job," Maca half whispered. Her eyes darted around, making sure they were still alone.</p><p class="p3">When Zulema caught up with the blonde's intentions, she snorted. "Oh I see." She took off her gloves, making her way around the car to reach Maca. "<em>Dime</em>…" Shemockingly lowered her voice to mimic the younger woman. "What is it you're offering?"</p><p class="p3">Maca swallowed. She was feeling small and incredibly out of place under the other woman's piercing eyes. But it was her last chance, finding an accomplice was her only way out of this. "A lot of money," she started, trying to appear more confident than she actually was. She knew that Zulema was working two jobs - well, until yesterday at least - and money was probably the only way to pique her interest. It won't be a problem to collect a few bankrolls from the safe before calling the authorities - sometimes the end justifies the means, right?</p><p class="p3">Zulema cocked an eyebrow. "What's the catch?"</p><p class="p3">"I need your help with…" Maca paused, trying to find the right words without giving too much away - just in case. "A robbery. In a few days."</p><p class="p3">Zulema hold her gaze for a second, before bursting out of laugher. "You're kidding me, right? Are you still drunk?"</p><p class="p3">Maca clenched her jaw, feeling her cheeks turning red. "I am not!"</p><p class="p3">A new car pulled over behind Maca's and interrupted their exchange. Zulema tilted her head and made a sign to the driver, signaling him that she'll be available soon. "<em>Mira Rubi</em>a, I don't know what you think you're doing but I'm not interested."</p><p class="p3">"Please," implored Maca, stepping closer. Time was ticking. The gala was in two days and she knew she will never find someone else in time. "It's very important for me… Perhaps you know someone who might be interested?" She tried, desperate.</p><p class="p3">Zulema sighed, approaching the blonde's car once again. "I don't know anyone." She shut the car's doors one by one and Maca felt her last shred of hope slipping through her fingers. "Now get the hell out of here, I have customers waiting."</p><p class="p3">Maca looked up to keep the tears that had gathered in her eyes at bay. "Okay," she whispered, defeated. In a last hopeless attempt, she reached into her bag and got a business card from her wallet, holding it into Zulema's face. "If you change your mind, please call me."</p><p class="p3">The older woman rolled her eyes, but took the card anyway. Anything to make the blonde leave her alone. "Sure thing." She gave her a last pointed look, before heading towards the next car waiting, leaving her behind.</p><p class="p3">"The usual?" Zulema asked, leaning on the window's frame of one of her regular customer - an old man with soft brown eyes. One of the rare client that she found likable, maybe because he reminded her of Karim.</p><p class="p3">He answered her something, but she wasn't paying attention anymore. Her gaze fell back on the curious blonde, making her way inside the station.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">-</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>Macarena Ferreiro</em>
</p><p class="p3">
  <em>Head of Accounting </em>
</p><p class="p3">Zulema traced the golden letters with her fingertips. Looking at this fancy business card while seating in a crappy waiting room full of loud and agitated ex-convicts really got her wondering how this Macarena Ferreiro - Head of Accounting - ended up asking her for help with a robbery. What happened? She turned the card around, like she was waiting for the answer to appear.</p><p class="p3">"Are you reading this?"</p><p class="p3">Zulema lifted up her eyes. A woman with long and unruly brown hair was pointing to a 4 years old magazine opened in front of her - something on a revolutionary diet '<em>to slay on your next beach getaway'</em>. She shook her head no and handed it to her. "Be my guest."</p><p class="p3">"Thank you!" The woman smiled, flashing a row of teeth destroyed by meth and heroin.</p><p class="p3">Zulema stared shamelessly, and forced a smile back. She thought of Tere, and all of these girls back in prison who will probably O.D.ed on the toilets floor before enjoying any kind of beach getaway. "You're welcome." </p><p class="p3">She tried to not pay attention, but a familiar feeling settled in the pit of her stomach - something dark and damaging that she had been carrying with her these past few months. Something she tried to repress in a deep corner of her mind, but failed to do so when she lingered too long in her memories about the time she spent in jail, and what she had to sacrifice to get out.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p4">
  <em>8 months before</em>
</p><p class="p5"> </p><p class="p3">"You're doing the right thing, Zahir."</p><p class="p3">Zulema watched the piece of paper laying on the table in front of her. The last obstacle standing between her and her freedom. It was right there and yet, she couldn't bring herself to seize it.</p><p class="p3">"Aren't you gonna get bored without me?"</p><p class="p3">Castillo snorted, leaning back in his chair and facing the very still brunette. "Maybe. I'm thinking about retiring after this, actually."</p><p class="p3">"Is that so?" Zulema crossed her legs, the noise of the shackles around her ankles disturbing the silence of the room. "Maybe we'll meet again then, somewhere on a beach. We'll have a drink and remember the good old -"</p><p class="p3">"Zulema," the inspector interrupted. He knew her patterns too well - he learned them the hard way. He lighted a cigarette and, without even asking, hold one in Zulema's direction. "You know it's too late to change your mind. Sign this and you're out in two months. One year of parole and then, you're free to do whatever crazy shit you want."</p><p class="p3">He struck a match and Zulema leaned in, the warm light of the flame coloring her tired features until the tip of her cigarette glowed into the dark room. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, before her eyes fell on the paper once again.</p><p class="p3">"Will he know it was me?"</p><p class="p3">Damián followed her gaze. He could hear the vulnerability in her voice, slipping through the cracks. Despite all the time he spent with the woman throughout the past years, it was the first time he was witnessing this. It reminded him that she was still human, after all.</p><p class="p3">"He won't, except if you chose to."</p><p class="p3">She shook her head negatively. "It will break him."</p><p class="p3">Castillo nodded quietly, understanding. Holding his cigarette between his lips, he reached for a pen inside his vest's pocket and slid it next to the paper waiting for her.</p><p class="p3">She took it with more force than needed, and tried to keep her breathing under control. She could hear her heart pounding more and more erratically, as she started to write her name on the document offering Hanbal on a silver plater to the police. His hideouts, contacts, bank accounts, everything, in exchange of what she was craving the most on this planet. The man of her life against her freedom - it was her own idea, and she will probably loath herself until the day she die because of this.</p><p class="p3">"I can't believe you're going to get out of here thought the main door," Castillo confessed.</p><p class="p3">Zulema dragged one last time on her cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray. She discretely wiped the corner of her eyes against her shoulder, not allowing herself to cry in front of him.</p><p class="p3">"Me neither."</p><p class="p4">*****</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">"Zulema Zahir?"</p><p class="p3">Zulema snapped back to reality at the mention of her name. She put the business card away, and got up to follow her parole officer to his desk.</p><p class="p3">"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Tomás started, gesturing for her to take a seat across from him.</p><p class="p3">Zulema sat in a slouched position, her hands crossed on her chest and nodded. "Always a pleasure," she replied with blatant sarcasm.</p><p class="p3">Tomás cleared his throat, pushing piles of files around on his desk. "Look, I'm sure you know why you're here -"</p><p class="p3">"Because of last night misunderstanding?"</p><p class="p3">He raised his brows, "You mean breaking your coworker's nose?"</p><p class="p3">Zulema sneered, playing with one of her hoodie's string. "I'm sure he's overreacting, it was just a scratch."</p><p class="p3">"Zulema…"</p><p class="p3">"He deserved it, okay? The guy was a pig," she straightened up in her chair. "Who cares anyway, I still have my job at the carwash station." Zulema knew she had to maintain a professional activity - it was one of the many conditions to her freedom - and she was still honoring it, so, she had trouble understanding her presence here. "What is this really about?"</p><p class="p3">Tomás scratched his brows, visibly looking for his words. "Look… The problem is not that you lost the job…"</p><p class="p3">"What then?"</p><p class="p3">"The restaurant is pressing charges," he blurted out. Zulema's hands tightened around the armrest, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "You know that showing aggressive behavior and being incriminated are a breach of agreement… The deal that you signed is no longer valid, you will have to wear an electronic bracelet and might have to go back to jail during nighttime." He paused. "I'm sorry."</p><p class="p3">Zulema bit the inside of her cheek and put on her hood, isolating herself from the outside world. "When?"</p><p class="p3">Tomás had an apologetic look in his eyes - he visibly developed some kind of sympathy towards the brunette, and knew how hard she was trying to get her life together despite her complicated past. "You're summoned by the judge at the end of the week." He planted a sheet of paper in front of her, with her name at the top and in bold letters. </p><p class="p3">She grabbed it and got up from her chair. "Thank you," she simply said before making her way out of his office. She heard him called after her but didn't pay attention. Once in the corridor, she slammed the elevator's button multiple times - like it would make it arrive faster. And once inside and alone, she snapped.</p><p class="p3">She tore the piece of paper apart, and her fists met with the wall until it hurt. She was just tired - so <em>fucking</em> tired. She never believed in fate, she always thought that each individual was holding the power of correcting the course of their life. And she tried, oh God she tried, to correct hers.</p><p class="p3">But somehow, it seemed that winning has never been in the cards for her. Even when she tried to do the right thing, and played by the rules of a society that always managed to fail her. She tried, for Hanbal, to live a normal life, to work two jobs that allowed her to pay for her groceries but was not enough to rent a proper apartment. She tried to fit in, to laugh at jokes she didn't find funny, to hide everything that had to do with her past, because she sacrificed him for this. For freedom. For normality. And here she was, six months later, already on the verge of losing everything again.</p><p class="p3">Zulema sighed, and dug up Maca's business card from her pocket. Maybe some things were meant to be after all. If she had to go down, she might as well go with a bang.</p><p class="p3">Before she could change her mind, she took her phone and started typing.</p><p class="p3">
  <b>Come back at the station tomorrow. Same time. </b>
</p><p class="p2">
  
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Say hi on twitter @evilrainbowz 🤙</p></blockquote></div></div>
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